Marriage Under Siege (32 page)

'They were all I had,' she
wailed against his chest. 'I brought them with me when I came as a bride. And
now they are gone.'

'There, now.' He stroked
her hair and murmured as she sobbed out her pain and fear and grief against his
heart.

When Mary approached the
door at a run, alerted by the sobs, she came to a rapid halt, seeing Honoria's
head on her lord's shoulder, his face turned into her hair. But Mansell heard
her and looked up. When he shook his head, she diplomatically left them
together.

Honoria finally grew quiet,
merely a catch of her breath and he lifted her to see her face.

'I do not have anything dry
to wipe your tears.' He used his fingers and then resorted to the edge of her
petticoat, which was almost as damp as her cheeks.

'I am sorry.' Her voice was
gruff with embarrassment as she tried to hide her ravaged face from him. 'I did
not intend to cry all over you. You are damp enough.'

He laughed and pulled her
back into his arms. 'Why is it, my dear wife, that you can go through an entire
siege with such courage and strength—and then cry over two broken glasses?'

'They were very pretty. And
mine. I brought them here with me when I married Edward. And now they are
smashed beyond redemption.'

'But they are only things.
And—of far greater importance to me— you are safe.'

Honoria then raised her
head, regardless of tear-stained cheeks, as the vicious impact of the past
minutes struck her. She lifted her hand to touch his cheek—a little hesitantly.
'You saved my life, Francis. If you had not dragged me to the floor when you
did, the shot from the culverin would have...' Her words dried as she realised
the full horror of what had just occurred.

Their eyes met and held as
they sat amidst the destruction of their home. She blinked at the wash of
emotion in his face, in his grey eyes, now almost black with the residue of
fear and the realisation of what might have been, before he grasped her arms
with fierce intensity.

'I am quite unharmed,' she
whispered.

'I know. Let me just hold
you for a moment. Hold on to me.'

And she did so as the fear
and outrageous relief coursed through her veins, and his, the tumultuous beat
of her heart matching his.

When he finally raised his
head, it was to become aware of her dishevelled appearance in damp and filthy
clothes, noting the shivers that raced across her pale skin as the cold air
circulated round the room.

He stood up, wincing
slightly from his bruised shoulder, and helped her to her feet. 'Come with me.'

'Where are we going?'

'You are cold and wet, even
if you were miraculously able to survive the effects of the cannon-ball.' He
took her hand, drawing it through his arm as the shivers struck again. 'I think
that the shock has yet to catch up with you. I know of one room in this place
which is, thank God, still free of drips and can offer us some privacy. Which I
think we need.'

He drew her out of the room
and along the corridor, her hand in his, silently thankful that she did not
argue, accepting his decision with the calm certainty of a child.

'Mansell!' Priam Davies
appeared with haste at the top of the staircase, sword and document in hand.
'Henry Lingen is asking for a parley—he has sent in this letter for you. Will
you come?'

'No. I will not.'

'But—'

'I find that I need a
private conversation with my wife. Now. Read the letter, Priam, and tell Mr
Lingen that I will consider its contents and speak with him tomorrow morning. I
doubt it will make little difference to the general picture here as things
stand.'

'Very well.' Priam's raised
brows and studied gravity said it all. 'Do I inform you if there is a real
emergency?'

'Do that. But only if you
find yourself unable to deal with it yourself.'

Honoria stood inside
Francis's bedchamber, unable to force her mind into its usual practical
channels. He seemed to have taken over her will, her actions, her very thought
processes and now...

'Why are you locking the
door?' She watched him with a surprised, owlish stare.

'Because,' he explained
with gentle patience, aware of her pallor and the stunned glassiness of her
eyes, 'if it becomes known that these walls are dry, and there are no drips
whatsoever, there might be competition for the space. And I want some time
when we are alone, with no one to disturb us. Take off your gown. You are
soaked to the skin—and so am I.'

She concentrated on his
words for a long moment and then with blind obedience bent her head to obey,
trying with shaking and clumsy fingers to unfasten ribbons and laces that had
suddenly tightened into impenetrable knots. Seeing her difficulties, he closed
the space between them and without comment simply took her over, stripping the
wet layers from her, unpinning her hair so that it tumbled around her
shoulders. When he was aware that her chemise had also soaked up the contents
of a good number of puddles, he stripped that from her too, ignoring her murmur
of protest. From there it took no time at all to tuck her under the covers of
his bed, strip off his own clothes and join her, pulling her firmly within his
arms, clasping her firmly against him.

She smiled and sighed a
little in pleasure, eyes closing even though she had no intention of sleeping,
as the heat from his body spread to hers. The shivers lessened.

'Honor?' His voice was
soft, bringing her back, his breath warm against her face. She opened her eyes
and blinked at his closeness. 'Honor is a beautiful name.'

She flushed, her glance
sliding away from his as she remembered his deliberately cruel comment.

'You bear the name with
impeccable grace,' he persisted in the face of her denial. 'My suggestion was
an insult bordering on the unforgivable.'

'It is not important.'

'It is. I was wrong. I have
a mind to make you smile at me again— as you did at Wigmore.' He tightened his
arms around her, to preserve l
he
physical unity, even as he
felt the distancing of her mind.

'You are very kind, my
lord. It was not my intention to cry over something so unimportant as broken
glasses. It will not happen again, I promise.' She struggled against his
disturbing proximity. She must not let herself lean on him. Must not allow
herself to long for his I ouch. She must accept his kindness for what it
was—and acknowledge that it was not love.

He felt her muscles tighten
and knew that she would pull away, leave his bed if he gave her the chance. He
felt an irrational touch of anger at her difficult obstinacy, her self-imposed
reticence, but then allowed it to dissipate in understanding of her tortured
soul.

'You are allowed to weep,'
he murmured against her temple. 'To mourn. To regret the loss and destruction.
You are stronger than any woman I have ever known. You upheld my authority
before my Lord Hertford and Vavasour with great valour. You have all my
admiration and...' His mind hesitated, the words drying on his lips. Was he
going to say love? Surely not. And yet... No, he would not go down that
tortuous path, with death and treachery around them, hounding their every
action. He picked up his words carefully, hoping that she had not noted the
hesitation. 'You are allowed to show weakness and lean on someone. It pleases
me that you would choose to lean on me. I do not expect you to carry all the
burdens in this battle.'

'But I don't—'

'Also, lady, perhaps I
should warn you that since I have you in my bed I have a mind to break your
reserve. Do you think I can?'

She would have turned her
face into his shoulder.

'No. Don't turn away. Look
at me.' Gentle but implacable, because she had been hurt, he cupped her face
and forced her to look up, his decision made. He would break her control. It
had shattered over the destruction of the foolish glasses. Would it break for
him now? Could he make her forget herself, abandon her fearful reserve, and
accept his demands on her body, giving herself to him without reservation? He
would make her step across the distance between them and rejoice in the
pleasure he could give her.

'I won't hurt you, lady,'
he promised, his eyes holding hers. 'I won't use what is between us in this bed
against you. Do you understand me?'

'Yes.' She could not look
away.

'I have a mind to have your
body beneath mine, to possess what is mine. And, in passing, give you not a
little pleasure before the rain comes through the ceiling or another stray
culverin shot through the window. Or someone hammers on the door. It will be a
miracle, I know, but we will try for it.' The instant smile pleased him. When
she lifted her hands to link her fingers around his neck in innocent surrender
so that her breasts brushed his chest, lust washed through him. 'I will give
you pleasure, lady. I will make you forget the siege for one short hour. Forget
everything outside this room. This bed.'

He bent his head to take
possession of her mouth with his own, deepening the kiss with a fierce
intensity, encouraging her lips to part and soften. Aware of the heat and hard
strength of his erection against her thigh, she expected him to cover and enter
her as he had at Wigmore—and did not at all dislike the prospect—but he did
not.

Instead, with hands and
mouth and tongue, with a heady mix of skill and experience, her lord took
command of Honoria's senses in a campaign as lethal as any siege. His assault
was relentless and all-encompassing, and she was helpless before it. Her
muscles tensed, but not for flight. Her body arched against him, but not in
rejection. She gasped as his mouth closed over her nipple, drawing it into the
scalding heat, as his fingers sought and found the sensitive delights between
her thighs. He might flinch in some discomfort as she buried her nails into his
shoulders in a death grip, but not for one moment did he allow the intensity to
falter. Lifting her hips in involuntary demand against his hand, she cried out
in amazed pleasure as the pressure began to build and blossom so that she was
no longer able to control her reactions. At Wigmore she had held back, guarding
her heart. Here in Mansell's arms she neither could nor wished to.

'Look at me, lady. Don't
you dare close your eyes against me.'

'It is too overwhelming,
Francis.' Her voice caught on a sob, but she obeyed, eyes wide, a swirl of
fearful anticipation and stunned delight.

'Let go, Honor. Don't
think. Let yourself feel.'

'It is too much—it
frightens me.'

'I will hold you.' He drove
her on until he felt her body begin to shiver, her muscles begin to tremble
under his mouth. 'I will hold you and keep you safe.' And still he drove her
on.

He got what he wanted. It
was total surrender. He watched her composure shatter, watched the wealth of
emotions flickering across her face as her eyes remained locked on his. And at
the end he swallowed her cry of release with his mouth on hers.

'Oh!'

He grinned at the stunned
shock that was the only emotion left when the final tremors died away. 'Well,
lady?' 'I...'

'Welcome, my dear one.' He
kissed her flushed cheeks lightly. 'I wager that you have escaped Edward's
clutches at last.'

'Edward never made me feel
like that.' She had to catch her breath and suppress a gurgle of hysteria in
her throat at the prospect.

'I doubt that Edward ever
made
anyone
feel like that!'

Now she laughed at his
intentional arrogance. 'It was wonderful.'

'I am honoured, my lady.'

'Is...is it always like that?'
she asked shyly.

'It can be so,' he answered
carefully. Not for the world would he have admitted that her response to his
demands had moved him beyond words. That it was rarely, if ever, like that.
The realisation was stunning, shattering to his senses. He brought his thought
back into line. 'Now, what would you wish for, my lady?'

'I dare not say.'

'Say it.' His response was
immediate and fierce. 'It is between us. No barriers here, remember?' The
growing security of her response continued to delight and astound him.

'I want...I would like you
to love me as you did at Wigmore... Did I actually say that?'

'You did indeed, lady.' He
swept one hand firmly from her shoulder to her thigh in masterful supremacy, in
promise of his intentions. 'Since you ask—and since we are of the same mind
here—let me show you the extent of your power over me.'

He let her take his weight
now, settling between her spread thighs as he crushed her to the thin mattress,
and his ultimate possession was as smooth as Oriental silk as the wet heat of
her closed around him. Breathing shallowly and carefully to control his
passion, he began to move within her, filling her, claiming her, with one slow
thrust after another, almost withdrawing, merely to plunge again to the hilt.

'Come with me, Honor. Like
this.'